Kiss It Better (6 page)

‘We’re meant to be friendly, remember? Tell me about your family. You seem close with your aunt and treat Leighton almost like a brother.’

‘I’m closer to his sister, Sami. She’s in Berlin running a café. Sami’s going to be so ashamed and worried for Aunt Gabby. The two of them will think there’s something they did or didn’t do.’

‘You can’t live other people’s lives.’ He’d ordered a glass of red wine after she’d refused to share a bottle. Now he sipped it before replacing it on the table and turning it in a quarter circle.

The lights of the restaurant cast shadows on his face, heightening the drama of strong features and his full mouth.

‘No.’ She sighed. She couldn’t even live her own life successfully. ‘Gramps, Dad’s dad, settled in Jardin Bay in the late 1950s. He was a hippie before there were hippies. He wanted a world where people cared about one another, dreamed dreams and lived them.’

‘This corner of the world is known for its communes.’ He smiled. ‘And magic mushrooms.’

‘It wasn’t a commune. And Gramps thought artificial highs were for people too lazy to use their God-given imaginations and energy. But Gramps had a big family and they all gradually settled around here, sometimes years later after they retired from careers in the city. Plus there were like-minded people — not dropouts — who came to Jardin Bay for the same reasons: peace, space and freedom.’ She half smiled. ‘Gramps’s surname was really Flawbottom, but he changed it by deed poll to Freedom.’

‘Pulled pork. Secret sauce.’ Paula put a heaped plate in front of Theo. ‘And a burger.’ French fries overflowed Cassie’s plate. ‘Enjoy.’

The burger had helpfully been cut in half, but it still threatened disaster. Cassie tackled it cautiously. The first mouthful was delicious.

‘This is good.’ Theo waved a fork, indicating his plate.

She nodded, mouth full.

‘My family’s a bit different,’ he said. ‘They’re definitely not into freedom. How much do you know about Brigid Care?’

‘I know it’s successful.’ Brigid Care was a juggernaut compared to JayBay’s boutique size. It competed with multinational pharmaceutical companies and the man across the table from her ran it.

‘My great-great-grandfather Connor Morrigan started as a travelling salesman during the gold rush that made Melbourne’s fortune. Some might have called him a snake oil salesman, but family legend says he really wanted to heal people, though he had no formal training. He had his two oldest sons apprenticed to pharmacists and opened his own pharmacy in his early forties in Melbourne. He believed in education.’

Cassie was caught by the story. She liked history and as Theo talked, she could imagine the dusty, desperate early days of the business.

‘During the gold rush, hundreds of thousands of people poured into Victoria, chasing rainbows. A large number stayed, swelling the population even if they never struck gold. Connor saw an opportunity in the greatly expanded market. His concoctions proved popular. His sons refined them so that they actually helped people beyond the placebo effect. Each son got his own store and sons-in-law were offered the same opportunity.’

She put the burger down, licked barbeque sauce off a finger and ate a couple of fries. ‘While the women sat at home?’

Theo snorted. ‘Not in my family. They were suffragettes, early doctors and my great-aunt Lily was a botanist-explorer in the Himalayan foothills. Connor believed in education for everyone. He sponsored scholarships and in his will he established a trust to pay for his descendants’ education. I have a cousin who is studying for his second PhD, happy to be a student forever on the money the trust provides.’

‘Handy,’ she observed. She knew how much Theo’s medical degree would have cost. ‘So you became a doctor.’

‘Yes. My granddad is one, retired now. It was a familiar career path. Then I discovered sports medicine. I’m competitive by nature. It was an easy fit. I spent a year in the US, studying, then joined a practice in Melbourne.’

‘Until your dad had a heart attack.’

Theo stopped eating and just stared at his plate. ‘My family is complicated.’

‘All families are.’

He glanced up then and smiled ruefully. ‘True.’

She had a sudden sense of him as a person. He seemed so confident, but his life was off-track too. ‘Will you go back to being a doctor?’

‘It depends. Can you stand more family history?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Connor had a big family and so did many of his kids. But the twentieth century was brutal. They lost sons in the wars. Some of the family sold their shares in the company to other family members so that they’d have money to pursue other dreams, then they lost the money in the Great Depression or in various stupid schemes. But my particular strand of the family, from Connor’s second son, Michael, stayed in the business and kept it strong. That meant we were mostly the ones to buy any shares others wanted to sell.’

He laid down his knife and fork and pushed aside the plate. ‘We own over half the company. Enough to have final say on everything — and to carry the responsibility for its future.’

‘When you say “we”, do you mean you and your dad?’ She ate a fry and waved a hand, offering him some.

He shook his head. ‘In some ways, if Dad owned the majority of shares it would make things simple. Instead, his uncle Patrick controls a significant chunk. Like Granddad, before he died, Uncle Pat only ever wanted to be a doctor, so management of the company passed from Great-Granddad to Dad. Granddad’s sisters own another significant chunk.’

‘Do they have children?’

‘Yes, but none they trust with control of the company.’ He hesitated. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

She didn’t push.

‘The thing is, everyone who owns shares in Brigid Care relies on that income. And a fair few of them are elderly cousins. Keeping the company profitable isn’t just a competitive objective, it’s vital.’

‘Couldn’t someone else have stepped in?’ she asked. ‘Studying to be a doctor takes so long, to just throw it overboard…’

‘My brother is an inventor. A brilliant one. But he can’t manage people. Plus, he isn’t interested.’

‘Sisters? Cousins?’

‘No sisters and no close cousins. Besides which, having taken on the CEO role, I like it.’

‘Oh.’ She couldn’t imagine anything worse.

‘I told you. I’m competitive. In sports medicine I work with people to get the best out of their bodies. With Brigid Care I’m building it to get the best now and in the future.’

‘But you’re a doctor. You can heal people. Sports medicine mightn’t be important, but you could…’

He looked at her with a wry, disappointed twist to his mouth.

She realised what she’d said, denigrating his chosen profession. However when she was right, she was right. Helping athletes win a medal didn’t compare to saving lives, and doctors were desperately needed in Australia and around the world.

‘There are lots of ways of being a snob, aren’t there, Cassie?’

The jab reminded her that they weren’t friends. She sat back as Paula collected their empty plates.

‘I’ll bring your desserts in two ticks.’

‘And coffee, please?’ Theo asked. ‘Espresso.’

‘You won’t sleep,’ Paula said.
Flirting
.

‘I’ll dream of Cassie, instead,’ he promised.

Paula giggled.

Cassie frowned. ‘Was that necessary?’ she whispered as Paula retreated to the kitchen.

He shrugged, muscled shoulders relaxed. A faint smile curved the corners of his mouth, taunting her. Then abruptly he leaned forward. ‘Do you know what I like about sports medicine? My patients were every bit as involved in their health as I was. They lived their lives for optimum health. I liked that; I liked helping them achieve more. And I can do that with Brigid Care.’

‘What? You’re going to go into body-building supplements?’ She was honestly confused, but apparently she sounded narky.

Theo leaned back from her, dark eyebrows pulling together in annoyance. ‘Brigid Care already sells supplements. And that’s not what I’m talking about. When Connor, my great-great-grandfather, started the company, he named it Brigid Care for a reason. Connor was Irish and he had a devotion to St Brigid, a patron of healing. He believed she’d saved his life when he had pneumonia as a young man.’

‘One espresso.’ Paula placed the offering in front of Theo, and unasked, placed a fresh glass of soda water in front of Cassie. ‘Apple pie, and a super-duper sundae with extra hot fudge sauce.’

‘Thanks, Paula.’ Cassie smiled. Family could be annoying, but they also cared and showed that love.

Paula smiled back, and out of view of Theo, mouthed,
go for it
.

Cassie fought the urge to roll her eyes by taking a large spoonful of sundae. It was good.

Theo was more focussed. He returned to his story of his grandfather. ‘Connor believed everyone should have access to good quality health care, not simply doctors, but everyday products that helped them look after themselves.’

She licked the spoon. ‘How do you know what he believed?’

‘He was interviewed for a newspaper article late in life. It was by keeping to those values that Brigid Care not only survived, but grew through the Great Depression. You should understand. JayBay’s the same, a business driven by its underlying values. That’s what I want to return to and protect with Brigid Care. Dad was never so focussed on helping people to help themselves. He believes in the grand vision of medical science heroically saving the day.’

That grand vision made for a good story, but she’d seen the reality in Africa. Incremental steps, building the capacity for communities to help themselves was what was improving lives in the third world — and those lessons applied everywhere.

Cassie paused, long-handled sundae spoon dangling, as she had an epiphany. ‘You’re right.’

‘I know.’

This time she did roll her eyes. He sounded so smug.

His mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘Sometimes saving lives isn’t about direct intervention as a doctor — or nurse — but supporting people’s own actions. With Brigid Care I can ensure people have access to affordable, quality products that build healthy lives.’

She admired the clarity of his mission and his commitment, and envied him his confidence. When she’d criticised him abandoning his medical practice, he could have attacked her professional desertion. A pointed question about why she wasn’t nursing would have finished her. Instead, he’d opened up and shared with her his motivation. That sort of confidence, being comfortable in his own skin, was the essence of sexiness.

In contrast…she winced. Yeah, she hadn’t shown herself in any great light. To put it bluntly she’d been a cow, rude and miserable.

She took a deep breath. ‘I admire you. You know what you’re doing and why, and I hope you achieve your aims.’

‘Thank you.’ He studied her face.

She had to fight to keep her expression even, not twisting like the emotions inside her: envy, grief, failure, depression and rage.

‘What’s your nursing specialty?’ He ate the piece of apple pie, but his attention remained on her.

She recognised it suddenly. Theo had the analytical detachment of a good doctor — or CEO. It gave her hope that he could listen and understand. But being in the mood she was in, she immediately discounted it. ‘You didn’t sign on to hear my life story.’

‘It won’t kill me.’

The understated invitation to confide suited her. She’d dreaded discussing the situation with family or friends. Her emotions were too uncontrolled for sympathy. Crying would worry people, and this was her problem.

Theo wouldn’t cry with her. And maybe she could talk this out with a stranger. ‘I’m a surgical nurse. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. Caring for patients but also the drama of surgery. And as long as I’ve wanted to be a nurse, I’ve known I’d work in Africa.’

‘Which you were doing.’

She grimaced. ‘Yeah. I qualified and got experience here in Australia before applying with one of the aid agencies.” She licked fudge sauce off the spoon, thinking, remembering. ‘I can’t say they didn’t warn me. I was told what to expect and that few people lasted beyond a year. The physical and emotional strain is too much.’

‘But you did.’ It was more statement than question, a quiet vote of confidence.

‘Eight months over the contracted year. Then they sent me home. Three weeks ago. I’d stopped sleeping, which meant my concentration was shot. They couldn’t trust me in surgery.’ A long pause till she forced out the words. ‘I couldn’t trust me.’

‘Difficult.’

‘You’ve no idea. I’ve always been in control, the sort of person who can cope with anything. Like you.’

‘Not me. I’ve been there. Flying visit. Enough to know that I couldn’t cope with Africa.’

Fudge sauce dripped off her suspended spoon as she stared at him. Surely a man like him never admitted weakness.

‘I don’t know what triggered the burnout for you, but for me, I couldn’t handle the unendingness of it, that no matter what I did there would be more and more misery. All my efforts, no more than spitting at a bushfire.’

The futility and frustration his metaphor expressed resonated with her. Suddenly, her ice cream and hot fudge sauce tasted salty with unshed tears. Instead of judgement, there was empathy. He’d understood. It felt like absolution, silencing the self-criticism that whispered she was weak, a failure. The man in front of her was no failure.

‘Are you sleeping now?’ It was a doctor’s question.

‘It took a week, but yes. This is so weird.’ She laughed, surprised. ‘When I met you earlier today I thought you looked like a sex god.’

He stopped eating pie and stared at her.

‘Now I’m treating you like a priest, telling you all my sins.’

‘And in between you saw me as the devil.’

‘Maybe.’

‘No maybe about it. I was waiting for you to hex me. Begone, foul fiend.’

She grinned. ‘Idiot.’

He finished his pie, then considered her over the rim of the espresso cup. ‘What will you do now that your African contract is over? Will Mick selling JayBay screw up your plans?’

‘What plans?’ The momentary lightness of her mood flattened, burst-balloon style.